Through the Eyes of a Fox
by Taluliaka
Summary: There is a saying, a very old saying, 'When the student is ready, the master will appear.' Don Diego de la Vega sees the past, present and future through the eyes of a fox. Series of vignettes, Disney/Mask.
1. Black Toronado

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**Through the Eyes of a Fox**

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Disclaimer: _I do not own any form of Zorro._

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When he first sees Toronado, he is a mess of sweat, hollow-ribbed and sweating. From over the fence, the young stallion and the man regard each other, blues eyes on brown. The whip stripes weep red trickles across the gleaming black shoulders of the horse. He is barely more than a colt, but he keeps his mares strictly in line, whirling about them, keeping them away from the encircling fences with teeth and hooves. There is a gouged scar on his left flank where an older stallion has marked him. A broken lasso drags from his neck. Beside him, Diego's father whistles through his teeth. "We found them up by the broken ridge, _patron_," their chief vaquero says, squinting at the mob obscured in whirling dust.

"That one..." Diego stops, laughs, drags a hand through his hair in glee. He senses his father is watching him curiously, but that is only one small part. The rest is all Zorro, who is laughing as only a fox can, with all his teeth. "Now that one is a devil." "Mad, perhaps," sighs Don Alejandro. "I have heard of the black strain in Don Hector's stock. Half his foals are untameable, the rest worse." The scarred colt is too big to be pure Andalusian, and his head is lowered like a bull's. He jogs backwards and forwards between the men and his mares, screaming challenges that send the vaqueros' horses to pawing and rearing with nerves. His father sighs again, calls for his musket. "We cannot allow this one to breed, Diego. You can see the craziness in his eyes." It will hurt his father to kill such a magnificent horse, but he will do it, for the good of the herd. Diego watches as the colt is cut from the mob, bucking and twisting, fighting every inch of the way. That same fighting spirit fills Diego's chest, makes him choke and grasp the fence. He cannot allow it to die. This must be Zorro's horse. There is no other now.

"I shall do it Father," he grinds out, forcing his emotions down, pushing Zorro away. "You have always said I should take a larger interest in your business, rather than bury my nose in books." His father agrees, hands him the musket with a surprised twist of his eyebrows. Diego mounts his quiet, dull gelding, a perfect mount for the quiet, dull, disappointment of a son that he is, and wraps the colt's ropes about his saddle horn. They jog away together, the colt still screaming, ramming his mount until it squeals in terror, rearing and plunging. The colt is beautiful and wild and strong. He cannot keep from smiling his fox's smile. Diego shall hide him in the network of caves on the edge of his father's lands, and Zorro shall ride the black whirlwind by night across California. "_Toronado_," he murmurs, as the stallion snaps at his gelding's neck, forcing it to jump sideways. "Toronado, Zorro alone shall ride you, I promise."

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**Author's Note: **_These shall be a series of short vignettes about Diego de la Vega. I am borrowing and mixing up the characters of Diego de la Vega as he is portrayed in the 1950's Disney version and the 1998 version The Mask of Zorro. Alejandro shall be making appearances. I am very interested in Anthony Hopkin's portrayal of an older, more bitter Zorro, but I can't resist Guy's charm. :) Also, the reason I'm posting it in the TV section is because all the activity seems to be over here, unlike the Mask fandom, and I didn't want it to be a crossover._

_Any reviews or concrit will be welcomed**. **_

_Thanks,** Taluliaka.**_


	2. Bounty Arc: Coming Storm

**Through the Eyes of a Fox**

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****Disclaimer: _Refer to first chapter._**

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"Ho, the hacienda! Ho, Don Alejandro!" The cries bring Don Alejandro out into the cool air of the courtyard. Night is falling and it is difficult to make out the group of horsemen at his gates. He recognises one, Angelo, one of the youngest of his vaqueros. "Angelo, what is going on? Who are these people?" Angelo is anxious and his horse jumpy. "I don't know, patron. They came out of one of the canyons and asked me to bring them to you. Don Alejandro..." One of the horsemen pushes past, cutting Angelo off, and into the light comes a swarthy, bold young man, dust-covered, sweat gleaming on the flanks of his horse. His grin is insolent, more of a leer, and he makes little circles in the dust with the tip of the bullwhip in his right hand. "Most esteemed señor, my name is Armando Castillo. We are but poor rancheros heading to the Pueblo de Los Angeles on business." His smile and tone is mocking, and Alejandro bristles at once against it. "What then brings you to my hacienda?" "There is bad weather coming, and we have goods that cannot get wet." He turns as he speaks, sending the lash of his whip out in a wide arc, snapping at something in the circle of shadowy horsemen. And out of the darkness, bound and gagged, surrounded by foes, caught at last, comes the Fox himself. Alejandro's old heart jolts with horror. "Zorro!"

Armando laughs coarsely, flicking the whip around Zorro's legs, forcing him to one knee. "Yes, it is El Zorro. And his horse." Alejandro has already noted Toronado, roped and held between two of Armando's men, in dismay. "And," Armando brags, "his famous whip!" He thrusts it under Alejandro's nose proudly. It was inevitable, perhaps, that Zorro would be caught, but Alejandro cannot stand seeing him in the hands of these ruffians. Armando takes advantage of his stunned silence. "Tomorrow, of course, we shall ride into Los Angeles and claim our reward, but tonight there is a storm coming, and I do not want to spend it with one eye open for this devil's tricks." He punctuates his words by sending Zorro to the dirt again, this time with a kick. His eyebrows raised, Alejandro tears his eyes from Zorro to look at Armando. "And you expect me to grant you accommodation?" Armando laughs again, and Alejandro can see how the humour doesn't reach his eyes, which are flat and cold as stone. "But of course, Don Alejandro, of course! If you turned away the people who captured El Zorro, the magistrado might have something to say about it, eh? Or the commandante? That might be considered unpatriotic...even treasonous." Alejandro glares at Armando, who dismounts and saunters past into the courtyard of his hacienda. "I'm glad you agree, Don Alejandro." The rest of Armando's men begin dismounting also, talking and laughing amongst themselves, and Alejandro wheels around and follows Armando inside, where he finds him looking around in satisfaction. Alejandro stops between him and the hacienda. "I'm sure you and your men will find the stables comfortable enough, Señor Castillo." Armando leers at him. "Of course, Don Alejandro. That will suffice." He follows his men and their prisoner towards the stables, coiling Zorro's whip in his gloved hands.

Alejandro turns to step inside, but is halted by the sound of the whip cracking, and a muffled cry. He turns to see Armando backing into the gloom, his strange eyes fixed on Alejandro, and Zorro struggling to his feet after a heavy blow. "Send out your servants. My men are hungry." Overhead, the clouds are swollen with rain, and thunder is muttering on the hills. Alejandro feels a shiver cross his spine as the group disappear into the night.

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**Author's Note: **_I wonder how Zorro can make it out of this one? :P First of a little mini-series, my version of what might happen if Zorro had been caught._

_Any reviews or concrit will be welcomed._

_Thanks, **Taluliaka**._


	3. BOUNTY ARC: Blood Dawn

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Through the Eyes of a Fox

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Disclaimer:

**_See Chapter 1._**

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Through the jagged clouds, the dawn light shines down on the small group of horsemen, carving lines of shadow onto their faces and gilding the flanks of their mounts.

"You shall murder him!"Don Alejandro snarls, deliberately butting one man's horse with his own stout roan.

Armando grins at the older man insolently. "Oh, and do you think that he isn't going to be killed anyway? Before we have even counted our reward, he will be swinging from the cuartel's gallows!"

Zorro is stumbling between them, hands tied, a thin cord bound about his neck. Helpless, surrounded by four horsemen, he keeps up an awkward jog, but Alejandro can see his strength is waning.

"All night he has stood in the stables, and the day before he has spent keeping up with your horses! Surely you can see, Castillo, he will not last..." Zorro trips on the rocky slope, and his knees give way. Don Alejandro reacts swiftly, cutting off the horseman behind, preventing his horse from running him down. The rider swears, and Armando looks back and yanks on the noose, dragging Zorro's body forward several paces. Alejandro grinds his teeth in fury as Zorro attempts to regain his feet, choking, and makes a decision. He dismounts and slices the rope with his blade.

Armando roars with rage, galloping his stallion back towards the pair, pushing his own men aside. "What do you think you are _doing_, old man?"

Alejandro helps Zorro regain his feet. "There is no need to be unnecessarily cruel. He will ride with me to the pueblo." He keeps his voice calm as he removes the strangling noose, although there is still anger churning in his stomach as he notes the deep black bruises that ring Zorro's throat. "And you will address me with respect, bounty hunter, if you do not wish to end up in a cell yourself."

Placing Zorro on his sturdy roan, he mounts behind him and canters off towards the pueblo, ignoring Armando spluttering behind him, and the murmurs of his hired men.

"_Gracias, senor_." Zorro's voice has been worn away to a painful rasp, and he is slumped with exhaustion on the horse's neck.

"It is nothing, my friend. I would not see any member of the pueblo treated in such a manner without intervening. I only regret that, with these brutes so close, I cannot help you escape." Zorro turns his head, and Alejandro catches the flash of his teeth, more a grimace than a grin.

"Unfortunately _senor_, even if you could give me that chance I cannot use it." His shoulders slump. "Toronado is in their grip, and I am so tired."

The group ride on in silence, each with their own thoughts. Alejandro is trying to work out how many blades he can muster before the execution is set. Even his son would be useful, if he were not visiting a childhood friend several day's ride away. The journey into the pueblo is not a long nor a difficult one, but Alejandro stalls for as long as he can, keeping his roan to a gentle trot or a quick walk, forcing Armando's men to slow their pace. Eventually, however, the pueblo draws into sight.

Armando's men cheer, kick their mounts to a gallop. Waiting ahead for them is wine and women, song and company, wealth and entertainment. Ahead for Zorro there is only death. As the men race ahead, Alejandro wheels his horse, a half-formed plan in the forefront of his mind to head off and lose himself in the tangle of hills and hidden valleys which border his land. But behind him Armando slouches in the saddle, fingering Zorro's stolen whip.

There is no escape this time.

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**Author's Note: **_Thanks go to my reviewers Ida Mirei, WolfDaughter, Robin4, vertigirl, and Icy Waters, without whom this chapter would have been much longer in coming. Thanks :) There will be one or two more chapters for this particular little arc, mostly because I have no idea yet how Zorro is meant to escape. I've boxed him in well and good! _

_And yes, I am aware that I've misspelt 'senor'. Twice. Unfortunately I am unable to fix it right now._

_Until next time,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	4. BOUNTY ARC: Steel Cage

**Through the Eyes of a Fox**

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**Disclaimer:**

_**See Chapter 1.**_

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It breaks Don Alejandro's heart to hand over his burden to Sergeant Garcia, whose eyes bulge from his fat cheeks at the sight of the infamous outlaw separated from the night's friendly shadows. Most of the soldiers have gathered in the courtyard of the _cuartel _at this unexpected spectacle, and the mood is painfully jubilant. Many of these men lost hours of sleep and good mounts in the pursuit of the Fox and Alejandro has to fight back the urge to turn his horse about and shield the injured man from their unfriendly gazes.

Behind him, Armando cracks the outlaw's bullwhip, anxious for his reward and public admiration for his act. Alejandro ignores him as best he can and dismounts lightly, helping Zorro to the ground. As soon as the masked man's boots hit the dusty ground, his knees buckle, and it is only with Garcia's help that he does not pitch headlong to the ground.

"He has been ill-used, Sergeant," Alejandro murmurs quietly. "Treat him well and I shall reward you."

The usually loud and jovial man looks rather shocked at his quarry's condition, and the slabs of fat around his neck and face jiggle comically as he solemnly nods his head.

"I will certainly try my best, Don Alejandro."

"Good. I will be taking a room at the inn tonight. You could, perhaps, join me later for a drink?"

"Oh, I would be honoured, Don Alejandro. I will certainly be there!"

Alejandro is secretly glad that the large soldier has so easily fulfilled a greed. If he had thought it any use, he would have bribed Armando's men the night before in his stable, but they are all under their leader's cruel dominion, and he is most certainly a malicious and crude man, taking a perverse pleasure on bringing pain and despair upon others. Money, he is sure, is only part of what drove Armando Castillo into the bounty hunter trade.

As the current _commandante_, Santos Moncada, draws Armando into his own rooms, no doubt to negotiate payment of the reward, Alejandro watches Zorro being half-carried into his cell. Garcia lays him on the wooden bench gently, and carries away the keys on his belt. There is a certain relief to be found in the taking of such measures. The soldiers would of course be curious as to Zorro's identity and Garcia's stout-hearted following of army regulations forbids any notion that they would be allowed to torment the outlaw held in their cells. Unable to do any more at the present moment, Alejandro collects his horse and starts for the inn, watching sadly as the soldiers attempt to corral Toronado, who flails at them with hooves and teeth, his furious screams shattering the otherwise peaceful morning.

Outside the _cuartel_ gates, curious locals are gathering, and when they see his familiar face, there is a babble of questions directed at him. Alejandro sighs, feeling much older than his years, and holds up a hand to stop the crowd's yells.

"I have just come from Santos Moncada. I am sure he would want me to inform you that the outlaw known as Zorro has been caught."

In fact, if Don Alejandro has any grasp of the man's character, he would very much have liked to announce that himself. A short, cringing man with an over-pronounced sense of his own importance, and it is a small consolation to rob him of that undeserved honour.

There is a shocked silence, at first. A very small child somewhere begins to wail, thin notes of plaintive grief which make his horse shift uneasily. Then cries of despair, of anger, shouts for Zorro's freedom, protests and desperate ideas. Alejandro bends under the weight of their anguish, and finds himself drinking heavily in the bar much earlier than he would do on a normal day, seeking to drive the pain ever deeper beneath the numbing alcohol. At some point, Garcia joins him, and he buys him jugs of wine, and then drinks some more.

Garcia tells him about the upcoming trial, of Moncada's urgency to see Zorro on the gallows before he slips through their fingers, of Toronado's seeming madness and his imprisonment in a closed stall in the soldier's barracks. Once Alejandro thinks he sees his son's manservant, Bernardo, in the crowd of bar patrons, but he is gone again by the time he thinks to take a second glance.

No doubt his ageing eyes are playing tricks on him. Not only is Bernardo many miles away with Diego at this moment, he would also never have shown such strong emotion in such a public place.

In fact, when Alejandro reflects, he's never seen Bernardo cry.

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**Author's Note: **_Thanks go to my reviewers Ida Mirei, vertigirl, Icy Waters, Slightly Obsessive and tahitiliz. I had hoped to end this little arc with this chapter, but my muse went "No! We shall have more chapters! MORE I SAY!" Don't mess with the muse. Luckily, I (finally) know how it will end. Hooray!_

_Until next time,_

_**Taluliaka.**_


	5. BOUNTY ARC: Crushed Flowers

**Through the Eyes of a Fox**

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**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.**

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He knows, somewhere deep inside, that something is wrong. His stomach churns with dread. The smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. Nearby, in the darkness, someone is breathing, terrible, tearing sobs- like an animal panting away its life.

_Kill me._

He opens his eyes, although he doesn't want to, not truly, not ever again.

_Please kill me._

He feels disjointed. Before him is a hand. That hand holds a gun. The gun's muzzle is pressed to a strip of black fabric. From within that fabric an eye rolls pleadingly, pupil blown with agony. The eye is a startling blue.

_Kill me now._

He doesn't wish to, but all his protestations are silent, drowned by those terrible wet gasps for air. He is disembodied and silent. All there is the gun barrel and his hand and the rolling eye. His stomach heaves. He watches his finger curl about the trigger-

_KILL ME_

-and the eye of El Zorro drowns in blood, lazily curving away to leave a landscape of white, like a bloated moon.

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He jerks back to awareness, cursing and crying, in a hot dark little room that stinks of alcohol and sweat and cloying despair.

Alejandro stumbles to the balcony, ducks his head into his hands, and tries to will away those terrible visions. There are little flowers twined around the railing, and in his crushing them they have released a sweet scent. He doesn't know what they are called, but he is reminded, painfully, of Diego's mother.

There is an old belief that the departed can see those they have left behind in the moonlight, but tonight the moon has been carved away to a thin sliver. Its light is very faint, one he can barely see his hands by. Still, he crushes more flowers, and gathers up his broken thoughts.

"Elena..."

He whispers only, but a moon so thin might shatter if he speaks any louder.

"Elena, I don't know what to do. I cannot see any solution."

He misses her every single moment, and perhaps he is harsh with Diego because she is reflected in him, fractured like an image in water.

"He is a good man, Elena. He is a good man."

From his balcony, he can see the dull shape of the _cuartel_ in the darkness. He cannot see into it, but he can imagine all too well the shadow that the gallows forms over the dusty courtyard. It is either very late or very early, and the streets below are silent, populated only by a warm wind which stirs hidden wind chimes into life. Shadows chase each other across the buildings as strips of cloud float overhead, and Alejandro watches them, exhausted, almost beyond grief. Not quite, but almost. It would be easier if he did not feel so acutely. A shadow bobs under the wall of the _cuartel. _Alejandro watches it idly. The pale moonlight sparks grey and silver on the darkness –there is the jingle of a bridle-ring in the stillness of the night.

Alejandro stiffens in surprise. The shadow is too solid, it shifts impatiently. There is the muffled ring of its hoof on the ground. Beneath him there stands a great horse, black as night, with a harness stripped of anything extra which might ring out, hooves stifled by dark rags. He descends without waking anyone in the inn and approaches the beast as though in a dream. It is a stranger to him, although it seems as though he should recognise it, something about the arch of the proud neck, the fine limbs of the Andalusian bred with some stronger and taller breed. The colt stands quietly, tossing its long mane, not at all upset by Alejandro's approach. He reaches up to take the reins and steps back in astonishment as something lands beside him.

It is a man, all in black, the butt of a pistol gleaming at his belt. Alejandro can't see very much more beyond a pair of piercing dark eyes, but he recognises the air with which the stranger is clutching his sword-hilt and backs away with hands raised. He has sprung down from some point of the _cuartel_ wall overshadowed by trees, where Alejandro has not seen him. This man is very certainly not El Zorro, too short, with eyes that are black against his mask, but he cuts a fine figure beside his magnificent steed, and he fills Don Alejandro with hope.

He whispers as softly as he can, suddenly immensely aware of the slumbering town around them, and the wakeful guards over the wall.

"You are a friend of El Zorro?"

There is a pause, and then the masked man dips his head once.

"Then, oh _se__ñ__or_, you are here to help him?"

The stranger nods again, and drifts back against the shadows of the wall. His horse snorts and lowers its proud head to sniff at him. Alejandro feels a stab of joy, followed by desperate worry. Zorro is closely guarded. How can his friend hope to help him escape?

But the stranger jabs a gloved finger to his face, signing silence. Alejandro glances anxiously down the street and the stranger recommences his climb, silent and agile as a cat. He disappears over the top without dislodging a single stone and Alejandro is left standing in the darkness with his heart hammering wildly with excitement and fear.

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When morning breaks over the sloped roofs and squares of the Pueblo de los Angeles, the townspeople are roused by the thundering of hooves and the strident cries of one very aggrieved Santos Moncada shouting orders. The soldiers are scattered, some galloping some way, other groups another, disorganised and headless. Their quarry has long since vanished, outracing the dawn. Don Alejandro is sleeping once again, but in far greater peace, in his little room with the flowers on the balcony, and a sweet little breeze lifts the curtains, and brushes back his whitening hair.

The previous hours have blurred in his resting mind, but the undercurrent of joy and relief brings a smile to his face.

First, Armando Castillo, creeping through the darkness, his greedy eyes fixed on the hidden colt that is so very much like Zorro's Toronado.

And the crouching figure, stolen bullwhip trailing over his shoulder, that dark, vicious, violent man, dressed in dark stuff so as not to be seen by any honest eye at this dishonest hour – Castillo who has sold a good man for bloodstained gold – and the hatred Alejandro feels blossoms suddenly into an idea worthy of the Fox himself.

His cries bring several soldiers –and what they see is a man dressed in black, a man with a bullwhip and a wild black horse- what they see is Zorro escaped, that maddening ghost whose footsteps they have chased more times than can be counted. These footsore, weary soldiers have no difficulty at all in believing their outlaw has slipped his chains, have been expecting an ending such as this since the moment he was brought inside the walls of their compound.

They pursue immediately, firing blindly into the night. The black colt flings up head and tail and gallops away, the soldiers yell with triumph as they separate the shadowy outlaw from his steed, and in all the confusion only Alejandro hears the distant piercing whistle that has called the horse away.

He does not see the moment of reunion, two black stallions, two riders in black – but he can imagine. And so Don Alejandro sleeps well, knowing that the Fox has gone to earth once more.

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**Author's Note: **_Thanks go to my reviewers Ida Mirei, Icy Waters and Slightly. You make me happy, and drag me from my holiday laziness and make me want to write again. Thanks are also due to those who put this on alert whom I had not noticed before: ThereseZ and DT Fan. Your interest is appreciated._

_Could not resist throwing in one of Toronado's babies. He spends a good deal of his time in the Disney series wandering around being a stallion, and Diego would have to keep track of Toronado's offspring in case people started putting things together. :D_

_So, one arc completed! No doubt my strange brain will throw out more, but the next few chapters at least shall be stand-alone vignettes._

_Until next time,_

_**Taluliaka.**_


	6. From the Grave

**Through the Eyes of a Fox**

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**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.**

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Diego has tasted freedom, ultimate freedom that is, to be beholden to no one, to be alone and joyous. He remembers how it smells, how it felt, and he relives it again and again in his rancid cell through those long, lonely years. Freedom smells like high summer, the sweat of horses, dry grass and sun-baked rocks. It is to gallop, wildly, with skill through knotted rows of boulders and along tangled ridges, unafraid of stumbling, on a horse whose heart is still free. It is to gallop through a storm so powerful that every thunderclap jolts the heart, and lightning splinters the sky overhead. It is to be lifted by a wind so powerful, so untameable, that no lancer or captain, no soul dare follow him further. It is to be swept along in a cyclone's eye, so that every stride lengthens, and it may be that the next shall not meet earth, that they shall fly along without need to set hoof to ground again. He remembers the exultant ache in his chest, of the feeling of life so keen and sharp that it is like a mortal wound. He dreams of galloping through a tornado, and of dying, and of living, and of Esperanza's eyes. Yes, Diego knows what it is to be truly free, but it shall take the return of Rafael Montero for him to believe he can taste it again.

And when his chance comes, he does not feel so very different to the corpse the guards mistake him for. For a moment, under the welcoming weight of earth, Diego wants to stay there forever. The thought of speaking to other people, of getting money, clothing, weapons - to be dragged once more to the service of the people that more than once he has cursed black and broken-it is the thought of vengeance, not love, under the weight of the ground squeezing the breath from him like a jealous lover, that drives him to emerge at last from his grave.

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Although Alejandro Murrieta has only dusty childhood memories of the times that he has seen El Zorro, he recalls them all now to study his teacher. Although he has never even hinted at such, Alejandro knows that Don Diego has spent his years somewhere dark. He has seen old men released from jail, they stagger about the streets, their eyes corpse-blank. Don Diego's eyes have flashes of that awful darkness, like open wounds, when a woman speaks kindly to him at the marketplace, when a younger man steps respectfully from his path, flashes of confusion and fear. His stride is still that of the _caballero_, his commanding presence sweeps the townspeople from his path. Alejandro remembers those kind blue eyes from beneath the mask, crinkled at the corners with unmistakable laughter. But now they are cold, like steel and ash. When they fence, it is not with joy, and Diego's gaze slashes at him like a second blade.

He wonders, more than once, what Zorro dreams of, when his screams make the cave's walls ring, and whether someday he will inherit them just as he will inherit the mask.

He finds them wine from less than reputable sources, and Diego accepts the cup with a knowing look in his pale eyes. It loosens his tongue, as Alejandro had intended, but he does not hear what he wants to, grand old tales of when Zorro roamed the land, saving ladies, duelling evil men, emblazoning his sign on prison walls and the doors of noblemen.

Instead, Diego shakes back his silver hair, and lets the candles gutter, still, more than ever, a creature of darkness.

"There will come a time when the soldiers will turn up at your door and they will haul your wife screaming into the cold and they will point their guns at your children and they will ask where Zorro has gone. Then perhaps you will curse the day the Devil put you in my path. You cannot imagine such a day, Alejandro, because you are young and strong. You cannot imagine a day when you are helpless to protect the ones you love."

Alejandro rolls his cup between his palms. He is mostly drunk, tongue thick and clumsy, and he applies himself to listening, because he knows the moment he opens his mouth this spell will be broken, the half-light and the secret noises of Zorro's cave and Diego's quiet words-and who knows where he will wake.

Diego leans towards him with an unkind smile.

"My father's name was Alejandro."

Nearby, the stolen Andalusian's hooves ring out against the stone.

"You do not deserve it, little thief."

Alejandro feels as though he should defend himself, but cannot even form an opening argument in his swimming mind. Instead, he lets the cup drop to the ground.

Diego leans back into the gloom, eyes watchful and wary, and chuckles, a cold, dark sound.

"One day you will learn hatred, little thief. Towards everything. And you will spend your days trying to outpace it, always running from it, but some day it will catch up to you."

The room spins around him, and Alejandro falls into the darkness.

"I thought I would die with all the hate in my veins."

When morning comes, Alejandro wakes alone, sprawled on the table, feeling as though something very important has happened that he has missed.

Above the waterfall, Diego schools the new horse in the dawn air, cantering him in easy circles, allowing the motion to rock into him some semblance of peace.

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**Author's Note: **_Thanks go to my reviewers Icy Waters and ThereseZ. I love getting feedback, so don't hold back on account of thinking other people have already said what you wished to. I welcome it all. :)_

_The quote about hatred is, yes, from V for Vendetta. "Hate was all I knew, it built my world, it imprisoned me, taught me how to eat, how to drink, how to breathe. I thought I'd die with all the hate in my veins."_

_And yes, we are at least in this chapter, very far into Mask territory. Hopkins!Diego has many issues._

_Until next time,_

_**Taluliaka.**_


	7. Her Spirit

**Through the Eyes of a Fox**

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**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.**

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Father Felipe watches as he comes from the shadows with an unmistakable weariness.

"You are not the Zorro I saw last night," he says, canting glances at his old friend. Zorro is utterly still in the shadows, that whiplash wariness that he has watched develop about the shoulders of the Fox painfully evident. Then there is a sigh, the ghost of a sigh, and the masked figure reaches up and undoes the trails of his mask. Father Felipe gazes upon the face that, in a way, he has never seen before.

"Don Diego." He whispers, and it is an affirmation, soft as a prayer.

"Of course. Such distinctive eyes could not havce belonged to any other in California."

Once, Zorro would have laughed at that. Once, Zorro was always laughing. But now, it barely even drags a smile to Don Diego's frozen lips. He is a changed man, and perhaps not for the better. Diego apologises for the constant dangers he has placed the priest in. Even now, as another man, El Zorro causes damage. Father Felipe laughs it off as much as he can.

"It would have happened sooner or later, my friend. Captain Love has accused me of sheltering rebels before. Now at last he has an excuse to get at me."

Diego does not look comforted. "I have used this church so many times for my own purposes. As a den for the Fox. How did I ever repay you?"

'You helped your people every day you stood between us and Governor Montero. It is I who should be asking how we can repay you."

Felipe can see Esperanza, a sucking wound bleeding Diego dry. Her body lies in the cemetery, her headstone commissioned by Montero himself, before he left for Spain. But Diego does not ask to see it. When he goes to her, it will be in darkness so thick you could choke on it, where no eyes, even sympathetic ones, will see him doing penance for past sins.

But the Father cannot help overhearing the words spoken in that tiny graveyard behind his church. Zorro is a shadow among shadows. The white headstone gleams with the moon's touch. It is covered with some growing plant that thrusts tiny dark blooms to the light.

"Oh my love..." Diego murmurs heavily, and Father Felipe is glad that he cannot see the other man's experession in the night.

* * *

He sees her for the first time by moonlight, galloping her white mare on the plain. Dust drifts in a cloud behind their flight and Diego feels Toronado dance beneath him, impatient to outrace the two strangers. Her dress floats loose about her shoulders and her dark hair flies unbound. She is utterly wild, beautiful as the desert flowers, and the moment he sees her he knows contentment in a time where he feared he would never feel peace again.

He meets her by accident in the _pueblo_ marketplace the next morning. She is with her father and her hair is bound, caged he remembers thinking, they seek to cage his Esperanza's spirit. He would not have known her for the creature who outraced the wind at midnight, she is every inch the Spanish noblewomen in etiquette and discretion. And then she meets his eyes, boldly, and he sees the flash of fire in their depths. There is his woman of midnight, moon-wracked madness.

They meet, the next night and the next, and not once does Diego suspect a trap. There is only the thrill of the chase, the thunder of his heart in his chest, pale forelegs outstretched beside black ones as Toronado and Luna match their strides, and the thunderwrack of Esperanza's unbound hair. She smiles for Zorro, and never before has he felt such jealousy for a persona stitched from black fabric and shadows.

Maybe it is only loneliness that pushes him to greater risks. He waits hours for her to come, in full view in the half-light of the afternoon. It is a wonder that the Fox is not caught in that maddening time- in a way, Diego longs to be caught. The death of his father has unmoored him in ways he does not fully grasp. Bernardo is now once again the only person living who knows his truth. And Diego is beginning to realise that he is not enough.

The day of their wedding they ride together, Diego on a sturdy chestnut as unlike Toronado as it is possible to be. And Esperanza dances lightly beside him, soothing Luna with hand and voice against the open plain that beckons all those who long for adventure. The afternoon breeze lifts Esperanza's hair, and Diego sneaks tiny glances at her, just as Zorro used to do. And she catches him looking, and laughs. She sets heels to Luna's side, and she dares him to follow her, to ride as she knows he can.

And Diego follows with joy in his heart.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Thanks go to my reviewers Ida Mirei, Icy Waters and ThereseZ, and all who have put me on alert or added it to their favourite stories. I have updated this because someone voted for an update on my poll. There is the power of the poll in action, people. Hope you enjoyed, I tried to put in some Happy!Hopkins, but the angst always creeps in with that guy._

_Inspired by the line in Mask: "Elena, you are like your mother. Same eyes, same mouth, same spirit."_

_Until next time,_

_**Taluliaka.**_


	8. At Bay

**Through the Eyes of a Fox**

**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.**

* * *

When the soldiers have finally cornered them, there is a moment of hesitation. Part of it is Toronado, he is foaming at the mouth, blind with rage, a mad glint in his eye, ears flattened. Woe betide any man who would seek to grasp his bridle; those who value their arms stay away, and murmur to each other. They have backed him to the canyon wall, and his master hangs motionless from the saddle. At some point during their mad chase, he has lashed himself to his harness, Toronado's reins are knotted about his wrists.

One soldier raises his pistol, but Garcia slaps it away.

"No, idiot! Monastario will kill me if you kill him! The commandante wants him alive!"

The men fall back, unsure. The bandit stirs, and Zorro sees his foes close about him as though through a mist. He moans, feels the blood chilling under his clothes. He whispers to his horse's flattened ears.

"Home, Toronado. Take us home."

With a powerful leap, the stallion is away, sending the other horses scattering left and right. Once he has his stride, no horse can catch him, and they blend with the night, disappearing into the desert. Only after hours of fruitless searching does Garcia call off the search, his mind filled with fears of Monastario's punishment, his lancers weary, their horses footsore and exhausted.

Finally, Zorro falls. He is very near death, and he does not stir as Toronado's puzzled cries ring out into the night. Reins trailing, alone and confused, Toronado paces about his master's body, and nearby, in the de la Vega hacienda, Don Alejandro stirs.

* * *

When a fox is injured, he will haul himself to the deepest den, seek shelter in clinging shadow, and there wait to die, licking his wounds. In the hazy glow of the hacienda's candlelight, Zorro does not have that luxury. Alejandro can see the way his muscles tense when he approaches, every nerve strained to fever pitch. The masked man cannot stand any longer, but while Alejandro was out of the room, he has retreated to the darkest corner, half-hidden behind a richly embroidered chair. The room smells of gunpowder, and horses, metal and blood. Zorro seems to bring the night inside with him, the window curtains stir with a sweet breeze, and Alejandro hears an owl call as it swoops by, hunting.

"Come, senor Zorro. Let me tend your wounds. Lie down, you must rest!"

Zorro, whomever he is, is as stubborn as a mule. He refuses to allow Alejandro to approach him, nor cut away his clothing to reveal his wounds. He has accepted a bottle of wine though, and drains it steadily to cope with the pain. He has been shot once, perhaps twice, judging by the dark stains on his clothes and gloves. Alejandro is frustrated, his patience rapidly running its course.

"Come, senor, allow me to tend to you. Did you not do the same for me, take me into your home and keep me from my enemies?"

There is no reply, but Zorro's eyes continue to watch him warily.

"Is it because of the mask? On my honour as a gentleman, you have my word I shall not touch it. I only wish to help you."

"I know."

Zorro's voice is rough with the pain of his wounds. The masked man leans his head against the wall behind him and closes his eyes. Alejandro feels as though he is housing some wild creature, as likely to bite the hand that gives him aid as he is to permit it. Alejandro may be in his debt, but that does not mean that Zorro is not a dangerous man, in his own way. When a fox is cornered by hounds, he will turn at bay and fight to the death. When a fox is caught in a snare, he will chew off his own leg to be free. What then, shall Zorro do if the soldiers come? What will he, Don Alejandro de la Vega, do when the soldiers come searching?

In his stables, in a closed loose box stands Toronado, instantly recognisable to all. Upstairs, his son Diego sleeps undisturbed, but for how long? Alejandro has raised Diego's manservant, Bernardo, but after tending to Zorro's horse, all he has done is stand in a corner and watch them both. Alejandro does not know Bernardo well, cannot tell what he is thinking. If he could, he would rouse his son, but how would Diego react to find an outlaw in his home? No, he cannot call Diego, and he cannot tell anyone else for fear of alerting the soldiers.

One thing only is for certain. While Alejandro still has breath, he will not allow Zorro to bleed to death in his house.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Thanks go to my reviewers Robin4 and IcyWaters. This chapter is for you. May be a stand-alone, may be an arc. I'll make up my mind later. I was listening 'I Want to Spend my Lifetime Loving You' writing this...and then had to watch Mask immediately afterwards. I still love that movie._

_Until next time,_

_**Taluliaka.**_


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